


A Hairy Business

by Vinelle



Series: Deer Hairy [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Bestiality, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9494021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vinelle/pseuds/Vinelle
Summary: In which the protagonist of the Harry Potter series is put to the cute but disinterested animal test: if your hero can be replaced by a cute but disinterested animal, is he really that proactive?





	1. Sense and bestiality

" _Forma animale manifestate_ ," Lily muttered. She felt an odd tickling, running all over her skin. "forma animale manifestate, forma animale manifestate _"_ she repeated in a chant, eyes shut tightly in concentration. She could feel James' eyes on her. She was close, she knew it.

And then it happened. Quickly.

Her legs grew thinner, and her arms longer. Her spine fractured and refitted itself in a way that was somehow familiar and not as alarming as it should be, and her face grew long and pointed. Fur bloomed from every inch of her skin.

She was a doe.

For a few seconds, there was no sound but their breathing – that is, James' quiet breath, and her own awkward snorting. She twisted her head to look at her now very two-dimensional and colourless world.

Then her legs gave out, and she crashed to the floor.

"Mehh," she wailed in distress.

Lily Evans Potter was now an Animagus.

* * *

An unregistered one, at that.

The Ministry was compromised, and Dumbledore had made it clear that the more strengths Voldemort did not know the Order had, the stronger they stood. Besides, being unregistered had never been a problem for the Marauders.

(If it gave her and James a horrifying and godless way of spicing their up love life a bit (and if picturing the look on Petunia's face if she knew just how _freaky_ her sister was getting was too hilarious to resist), then that was merely a bonus and had not at all been a contributing factor in her decision to become an Animagus in the first place)

It was really just Lily's luck that the compulsory animagi registry would be one of the admittedly few Ministry regulations that was actually there for a reason.

A very good reason, as things turned out.

* * *

The Healers were surprisingly cool. With the exception of one flustered novice, they all acted as though it was all _par de course_.

(Sirius and James reported that her wing of the hospital was also filled with Unspeakables who had been conducting some classified experiment and ended up simultaneously giving birth to clones, so she figured it probably was.)

"I'll try to figure something out," Dumbledore said, for once looking flustered.

They agreed to keep a lid on things until then, and Dumbledore took care of the Healers' memories.

Lily had not been particularly eager to explain to her parents _why_ their most recent grandchild was not going to be bragging-to-friends material anytime soon anyway.

And so, with James beckoning Hairy forwards with a carrot and Lily sending Muggle breast pumps a thought of gratitude, they Flooed back home and immediately set to turning the nursery into a small stable.

(If Lily found herself loving the stumbling, squeaking fawn as much as she would any humanoid son, then that was really nobody's business. James and Sirius too were, if not as happy as they could have been, then at least having a lot of fun playing with Hairy in their animagi forms)

* * *

«He's here! Run, Lily!»

He heard a woman screaming and running, and then James Potter appeared in the doorway, wand in hand.

« _Stupe-»_

Voldemort was faster.

Stepping smoothly around the corpse, he made his way up the staircase. He could hear the woman scrambling around behind the only door that was closed. More than that, he could hear an odd clacking accompanied by squawking.

Eyebrows raised, he held a palm up at the door, smoothly vanishing it to reveal a poorly decorated nursery. At first it looked like they had taken the rustic cottage look too far.

Lily Potter was standing in the middle of the room, in front of a nervous-looking small deer. At the sight of him, it stepped backwards and to the left, a bit unsteadily.

"What is this?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "Please, please don't kill him…"

"The deer?" somewhere inside some realization was dawning, but he did not acknowledge it. "You care so much for an animal?"

The deer squawked, and she made cooing noises to comfort it.

Oh, _no_.

«That's your son?»

«Please don't hurt him!»

«How did you even- no, don't answer that.» Looking at that fawn was like looking at a kaleidoscope of ever evolving implications.

«Um,» she said, face reddening slightly. «I wasn't planning- um,» she cut herself off, remembering who she was talking to and that she was about to die. Her eyes flickered frantically about the goddamn stable, looking for some sort of escape, but escaping lord Voldemort would have been impossible even without a shaky-legged fawn in tow.

«Um,» he echoed involuntarily.

He became aware of his jaw hanging open. He closed it.

So much for «his equal».

The fawn whinnied and tried to walk around Lily, friendly and curious towards this new stranger. She stepped to block it.

For a few, brief moments, he was at a loss for what to do. Babies grew up and could pose threats later on, so even if the Potter child hadn't been prophesied he would probably still have killed him. It was only reasonable. Killing a deer, though, acknowledging it as enough of a threat to warrant death… He should have gone to the Longbottoms'.

In the end he cast the curse anyway. It wasn't like anyone would ever know.

* * *

By the next morning, the entire Wizarding world of Britain knew. So, for that matter, did the rest of the international Wizarding community too as the news spread.

* * *

"Is it true, Albus?"

Minerva knew that it almost certainly was, but rumors were rumors. She had to ask.

"I'm afraid so," he said, and the loss of the Potters was a fact.

She took a moment to collect herself.

«And- »

"He tried to kill Hairy too, but failed. The curse rebounded on him."

"He failed to kill a deer?"

Albus nodded solemnly.

When Hagrid arrived with the drugged little fawn fit into the sidecar, none of them had the heart to wake little Hairy, so he was levitated onto the yard with a horse rug, carrots and a letter to his aunt as his sole possessions.

* * *

_100 DEER KILLED IN AUROR-UNSPEAKABLE COOPERATION EXPERIMENT_

_STILL NO ANSWER TO MAGICAL MYSTERY_

_Yesterday, in an experiment conducted by GODRIC, the investigative unit formed to find an explanation for the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, fired killing curses at an assortment of deer to discover whether they possessed any kind of immunity. They did not._

_«Obviously the fact that these deer weren't born of magical experimentation must be taken into account,» says Beaste Yalty, spokesperson for GODRIC. «Ideally we'd be experimenting with, um, similar creatures, but apart from eggs, we haven't been able to locate any.»_

_So far as the Ministry knows, Hairy Potter is unprecedented. Animagi are rare enough as it is, and for a couple to be male and female of the same species and to then produce offspring is almost unheard of._

_Whether what happened when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's curse rebounded is a hitherto unknown reaction to beings such as Mr. Potter or if Mr. Potter himself is extraordinary, remains unknown. As the young hero has been placed under protective custody, interviews and experiments cannot be conducted._

_We remind the public that any citizen willing to help further the research will be well compensated their donation. GODRIC promises full discretion and respect._

* * *

Nearly ten years had passed since Petunia Dursley had been awakened by the crash of a fawn knocking over her potted petunias, but Privet Drive had hardly changed at all. The sun rose on the same chewed-on garden and lit up the brass number four on the Dursley's front door; inside, there were lots of pictures of a fat kid doing things. There was no sign of any livestock living in the house.

Yet Hairy Potter was in the garden behind the house, grazing peacefully. Summer had come early that year, and with it fresh and juicy grass. Inside, the Dursleys were celebrating Dudley's eleventh birthday. Hairy did not know this, but if he had, he would not have cared. He was content.

At about noon, the door to the garden opened. Vernon Dursley stepped out, his wife Petunia lingering at the threshold. «See? He's bloody well glued to that damn grass. He's not going anywhere.»

«I don't know Vernon, he's wandered off before, he could get quite far…»

«He's got a collar!»

Hairy started at the shout, and stared at Vernon for a few seconds. Then he continued chewing.

Dudley appeared in the doorway, appearing bored. «Da-ad, Pike is gonna come any minute now! Can't we just throw some pellets around, so he can look for those or something?» throwing things into Hairy's garden or at Hairy himself was a favourite pastime of Dudley's. Usually it wasn't pellets, though.

Petunia squealed and engulfed Dudley in what would, had he not been very fat and she very thin, have been a suffocating chokehold, and Vernon grunted his approval at this wonderful plan. Dudley was a practical, based boy, no rubbish _book smarts_ there.

Hairy spent about half an hour sniffing out all the pellets, and then another four sleeping in the shades. He was awakened by the noise of the Dursleys coming back home, happy and pleased with a lovely trip to the zoo.

It was a nice day.

* * *

In spite of his consistently deerlike behaviour and disappointing response to Petunia's awkward, half-hearted attempt to teach him to read or even Dudley's less ambitious attempts to teach him to play dead, Hairy Potter was no ordinary deer.

He did not look ordinary, for one thing. His fur was hazel brown, and had very long, soft, perpetually ruffled hairs. His tail was pitch black, an unusual colour. More alarming still were his eyes: rather than being brown and noble, as befits a creature of the wild, Hairy had somehow gotten himself saddled with bright, clear green. On a human that would surely have been an attractive feature, but on a deer this looked creepy. Strangest of all was the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. No fur grew there, it was grey and somehow a character statement.

(When asked about it, the inquired Dursley would inform the wants-to-know that a hunter had killed his mother, and then taken out a knife and carved a lightning bolt into his forehead. It was after this that the Dursleys had been forced to take him in.)

He seemed to have an unusually good memory and strong opinions as well. He remembered people: his usually blank gaze would turn reproachful when he looked at Mrs Figg, as the old lady kept trying to turn him onto his back to rub his belly and giving him cat food. He didn't care for Vernon's sister Marge either, and would in fact make a point out of being uncharacteristically affectionate towards the Dursleys when she was visiting, even if they did in no way appreciate the affection and never failed to push him away.

There was something about him.

(Sometimes Petunia would sit down in her favourite garden chair and stare at him, a thousand things and nothing in her eyes. She rarely sat for long, and never said anything, but whatever she was thinking was something she could not get past.)

* * *

One morning, Hairy was awakened by a letter floating down in front of him. He sniffed at it curiously, but having never learned to read or even any concept of what a letter was, he soon lost interest. He dozed off again.

An excited but confused Dudley later found this letter and waddled inside with it.

«Mum, look! Hairy's got a letter!»

The door closed behind him, but Hairy, now awake again could hear the _thump thump thump_ of someone running down the stairs, and loud voices.

Dudley came back outside.

«They _took_ it!» he yelled accusingly at Hairy, as though the deer had had any influence on his parents' deplorable actions.

Hairy started grazing.

A lot of letters started coming. Hairy ate some of them.

«We're leaving.»

Vernon scooped Hairy up into his arms and all but threw him into the car trunk and shut it closed. He then shooed Dudley into the backseat in a much more considerate, yet not entirely dissimilar fashion.

He heaved into the driver's seat with a heavy _oomph_ , and started driving.

(It was during this trip that Vernon Dursley for the first time felt fear upon encountering a police control, as opposed to righteous smugness. Usually he loved nothing more than to see shady-looking fellows get pulled out of their cars and questioned, much like he, being one who always bought tickets, loved watching delinquents get fined at ticket controls, but this time he had a faulty ticket, which is to say he had livestock stuffed inside his trunk.

Unfortunately for his nephew's welfare, he was waved right past the control.)

It was Hairy's first time leaving Privet Drive.

* * *

It was on this surprise roadtrip that the Dursleys discovered that the only thing more difficult than getting a hotel to accept a deer, was getting a deer to accept a dingy in a stormy lake. The solution to the two problems turned out to be the same: tranquilizer darts. Vernon was glad to have replaced the old shotgun.

* * *

«Yer a magical creature, Hairy.»

Hairy continued to sniff at his coat, unconcerned.

«What?» said Dudley. Petunia drew him closer.

«A magical creature! What, yeh thought yer cousin was a normal deer?» The gigantic man rubbed Hairy's neck fondy. Hairy's knees buckled slightly and he had to take several small steps to regain his balance.

«My _cousin_?»

«Yes of course, he- » Hagrid's smile faded as comprehension dawned. He looked at Petunia. «Ye never told yer son about him?»

Petunia and Vernon were very quiet.

«How's it-» Hagrid started, before it dawned on him. His face darkened. «Yeh've been acting like he's an animal?»

«Well, of course!» said Vernon. «He is an animal, isn't he? Just because Petunia's freak sister gave birth to him does not make him a member of this family!»

Dudley's yaw fell.

An ominous red colour rose in Hagrid's face, much like all colour had left Dudley's. He got to his feet and growled, actually growled, at the Dursleys in fury. Petunia and Dudley shrank behind their man.

«Yeh bleedin' _Muggles_ dare act like _Harry Potter_ ain't nothing but-»

«An animal?» the apparently suicidal Vernon interrupted hotly. «Well, it is what he is. And now a very magical one either, from what we've seen,» he continued, likely under the impression that Hairy not being magical would lessen Hagrid's interest in him.

It did not.

«He's yer bloody _family_!» the giant cried, «'n of course he's powerful, what d'ye think he's got that scar for?»

«Hunting accident?» Dudley dared.

«HUNTING ACCIDENT?» Hagrid roared. Dudley stuck his head into his mother's arms with an audible squeak.

Hagrid, his face terrible with rage, picked up a pink umbrella and pointed it straight at Vernon. He looked more formidable than any savage wielding a pink umbrella had any right to do, and would possibly have done something unspeakable to the comparatively tiny man had a sudden _crash_! not distracted all the present literates.

Hairy had backed into the firepoker stand.

Hagrid forgot all about exacting revenge upon terrified civilians, and ran to Hairy's aid. «Don't listen to them Muggles,» he muttered, «they ain't got no clue. Of course yer magical.» He picked Hairy up like a dog and went to sit in the sofa with him. «Yer got more magic than most of us, I'd wager. Right powerful wizard you'll be, eh?» he cooed, rubbing the wide-eyed deer here and there. Hairy looked stressed.

Hagrid's face grew somber. «Them Muggles never tell ye about yer parents, did 'em? 'bout why yer a deer? 'bout yer scar?»

Hairy wriggled.

«I'll take that as a no,» Hagrid said, and, holding his leggy friend firmly to keep him still, started telling the tale of one wizard who terrorized a community, and of the fawn that stopped him. And, vaguely, of the fawn's origins.

«No one knows why ye survived,» he concluded, sniveling. Hairy was tense as a feather. «Ye were right terrified - I picked you out of that rubble myself. Yer parents-» he cut himself off with a sob.

Hairy saw his chance and lunged.

He did not get far.

Hagrid grabbed him mid-air, and the despairing deer was coiled right back into his quicksandlike embrace «It's alright to grieve,» he muttered, unperturbed by the deer's terror, hugging it even closer and kissing the little snout with wet puckered lips. «It's always 'em good people die young, and yer parents,» he cut himself off with a sob, «were some of the best I ever knew,» he concluded, his face now glistening with tears.

Hairy wriggled in an attempt to get his hind legs under him so that his next spring might be successful, but it was no use.

Hagrid wasn't bothered.

He turned to the Dursleys.

«I'll be taking him with me te Diagon Alley, to get him the things he needs for Hogwarts,» he said.

«You - you can't be serious!» Vernon exclaimed.

Hagrid released Hairy, who sprang to the other end of the room, and stood pressed into the wall, staring at him.

He stood. «Ye gonna _stop_ me, Muggle?» he said, clenching his pink umbrella, again looking very intimidating.

Vernon was not going to stop him.

* * *

Fortunately for Hairy's sanity, Hagrid did not have the heart to force him into the dingy, nor the callousness required to knock him out like the Dursleys had. He ended up going to Diagon Alley alone while Hairy stayed in the shack.

(This was probably for the best. No way would a ride in a Gringotts cart _not_ have given the hounded Hairy a cardiac arrest)

* * *

On the 1st of September, a loud crack was heard outside. Hairy, who had been grazing, started. The sound was very similar to Dudley's firecrackers.

Just as he'd started trusting the lawn again, a man came around the house corner. Hairy had never seen him before.

The man stood for a second, giving Hairy a long, disdainful look. His was the kind of man's face that instantly made you think _unattractive_!: intelligent beetle eyes that made you uncomfortable if they lingered too long, pale and clammy skin, sharp jutting features that lost all hope of ever being considered handsome with the hawkish proletarian nose, and the hair was grief. He was too thin, sort of gangly in spite of being an adult. His clothes were dark and somber. Amazingly, this thorough gloom was somehow reassuring, as it had to mean he had knowingly committed to this ascetic aesthetic.

In a way, the stranger aptly named Severus Snape had style.

The nauseated look he was giving Hairy was just another aspect of that.

Hairy stared back.

Brusquely, silently, he stalked toward the now slightly alarmed (Hagrid was not forgotten) animal, grabbed a fistful of its fur, and spun on his heel.

The two disappeared, leaving nothing but another loud _crack_!

 


	2. Of Fawns and Fools

It was with another  _ crack _ ! that the duo appeared at Hogsmeade station, where Minerva McGonagall stood waiting.

 

Hairy bolted.

 

“Merlin’s bloody -  _ petrificus totalis _ !” Snape shouted, whipping his wand out in record speed. 

 

(While impressive, this speedy draw was not entirely a credit to his acumen as a duellist. Severus Snape had been wanting to hex the animal before even meeting it. He happened to hate it passionately, and that had everything to do with having had his world slightly shattered (further) when he learnt that the love of his life had birthed a deer. His desire to protect the only thing that remained of her conflicted greatly with his desire to see it smeared on some dirty road as roadkill. His quick draw in this particular situation was therefore not representative of his usual performance.)

 

Hairy was hit, and fell like a brick.

 

McGonagall looked shocked. “ _ Severus _ !”

 

“What? He ran, Minerva, I had to-” 

 

“He’s a student, you can't hex students!” McGonagall yelled as she ran after Hairy. Somehow the eleven-year-old had covered thirty feet in the seconds it had taken Snape to petrify him. “ _ Finite incantatem _ ,” she said.

 

Hairy took a moment to realize he was free, but when he did she was already at his side, holding up her palms at him. He stared at them.

 

“I’m so sorry about that,” she said, though she looked more angry than sorry.

 

Hairy did not really react to that, likely because deer have little concept of injustice and forgiveness.

 

(They do, however, understand danger. From this moment on, Hairy would no more trust Severus Snape than he did Rubeus Hagrid. In this manner, an adult man’s hatred for a deer was somehow reciprocated. Kind of.)

 

“Do you want to come with us? No one will hex you again, I swear it… up you go, Hairy,“ she beckoned, extending a hand at him in a mix between the hand you extend at someone needing help to get up and the hand you extend for an animal to sniff. It occurred to her that she was treating Hairy very unlike a normal student. She was not comfortable with the situation.

 

Hairy got up and sniffed her hand. “Well  _ done _ !” she cooed before she could stop herself.

 

Snape snickered. “Nice one, Minerva.”

 

“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, pulling her hand back and straightening up. Hairy’s eyes followed the hand. “He’s been treated like a deer all his life, of course he has a few - issues.”

 

Hairy turned his head to the side and took a few steps away from her. This had nothing to do with what she had just said, and everything to do with animals doing what they want when they feel like it.

 

McGonagall did not realize this, and looked horrified. “Hairy - Potter - I didn’t mean-” she began, only to falter when Hairy dove his head down to start eating grass.

 

“Issues,” repeated Snape in the silence that followed.

 

As Hairy paused his grazing to sniff a pile of desiccated dog excrement, Minerva McGonagall got the feeling that something might be horribly, horribly wrong.

 

* * *

 

_ Now, then… What have we here? _

 

Hairy, who had been remarkably agreeable to McGonagall stuffing him in a room filled with squealing eleven-year-olds and ghosts, and then to being led into a much bigger room crowded with strangers and  _ then  _ had a filthy, slightly scary hat put on top of his head and almost covering his eyes, started at the noise.

 

(While he had a far wider field of sight than humans, he no more knew what was happening directly above his head than a human boy would have, and so even if they had not been almost covered, he still would not have seen the tip of the Hat suddenly straightening up like someone had put a stick in it. He would have needed external eyestalks for that. The rest of the Great Hall, however, did notice, and people started whispering excitedly.)

 

The Hat was silent for a moment, shocked, uncomfortable, like a doctor at a party fumbling for words after being introduced to his friend’s virgin fiancée, whom he can tell is pregnant. It sank back together.

 

_ … you really are just a deer, aren’t you? _

 

Hairy had little understanding of the English language and even less of the brain capacity required to process questions and formulate replies, so even though this was the first interaction of his life where his lack of the anatomy necessary to speak would not be a hindrance, he still did not answer.

 

The Sorting Hat was again quiet as it ruffled through the unfamiliar territory that was Hairy’s decidedly non-human brain.

 

_ … well, you’re not a Ravenclaw, that much is certain. _

 

It was quiet again. This might just have been its most difficult job ever, in its thousand-year career. Fortunately, it realized, all this silence was really not a problem, as Hairy would not care one whit about what it said anyway.

 

(Some may think that the Hat was being an obstinate prick sorting Hairy, implicitly letting everyone believe he had human qualities and some sentience. These people give it too much credit. For all its skill and personality, the Hat remained an enchanted object. It had been given knowledge and a mission, and, while capable of absorbing new information and giving political musical performances, it could not deviate from its most basic function, which was to sort first years. It is not to be blamed for this disaster.)

 

Still, it was made to like thinking out loud. Godric Gryffindor had been ahead of his time and wanted it to make the students part of their own evaluation processes. So it did.

 

_ Not much Hufflepuff or - hah! - Gryffindor in you either. But you have been quite tricky in the past when it came to getting your hands on food… and your life is all about self-preservation. I guess you’re more Slytherin than anything. Heh. I wonder how Salazar would feel about this… this will be interesting.  _

 

Mind made up, the Hat straightened a bit again and drew in a breath. 

 

Just then, in a strange turn of fate, a memory of the time Hairy attacked aunt Marge’s ugly bulldog Ripper floated to the surface. The beast had shat in his pellets and then dug in his lawn to cover it up, and in a rare defiance of instinct and intelligence Hairy had forgotten the laws of predator and prey and who attacks who. Ripper had been scared of him ever since (and he of Ripper, in a strange twist of deer logic).

 

The memory drifted away again, Hairy was not very interested in it, but the damage was done. The Hat had been impressed, and was reconsidering the little deer.

 

_ I'm impressed _ , it said.

 

Hairy noticed that the mood had changed. He became curious, so he tilted his head to look at it. The Hat was sitting on his head so this was a bit like dog chasing its tail, but like most dogs Hairy did not give up, and so the Hat fell off.

 

The crowd gasped.

 

“Not to worry, folks!” The Hat shouted. “I'd made up my mind anyway. This deer belongs in GRYFFINDOR!” It bellowed.

 

The Great Hall erupted in cheers, and Hairy was lead down to the end of the Gryffindor table, where hay and more pellets, carrots and sugar than he had seen in his life appeared out of thin air.

 

* * *

 

“First years, follow me!” shouted prefect Percy Weasley. It was a shame his mother had not kept her maiden name, as  _ prefect Percy Prewett _ would have had a great, if tongue-twisting ring to it.

 

A bushy-haired brunette jumped up immediately, and ran over to him. She looked relieved.

 

No wonder, as she had been the only first year still seated at the table. As they finished their meals, all the others had gotten up to form a small crowd around Hairy, who was very happy with his personal buffet.

 

(As her peers kept getting up to go watch a deer, Hermione Granger had had to scoot further across the bench to not look abandoned and find someone to talk to. This got sadder and sadder, and finally she gave up when even Nearly Headless Nick left. She had had to resort to stuffing herself to look occupied. She felt bloated and lonely.)

 

Percy nodded at her, but his attention was on Hairy’s groupies. They were in turn fixated on Hairy.

 

He cleared his throat. “I said, _ First years- _ ”

 

Coincidentally, the bucket Hairy had been eating carrots from toppled just then. Hairy jumped away from the offending object, and several students rushed forth to right it. Two boys got hold of it at the same time.

 

“Let go, Weasley!”

 

“Like hell! You’re not even Gryffindor, Macmillan, go away!  _ Give it _ !”

 

Ron Weasley kicked the other boy in the shin, and won the bucket tug war. He scowled at the other boy before turning to Hairy. 

 

“Here you go,” he said quietly, holding the bucket out to him.

 

The world held its breath as Hairy stared at it. 

 

Then he stuck his head into another bucket (this one also containing carrots), and Ron deflated.

 

“First years, would you  _ please  _ follow me?” Percy asked in the silence that followed, very dignified except for the red flush that was starting to spread across his face and neck.

 

Being the one in charge, he wound up charged with getting Hairy to follow, and the trip to the Gryffindor Tower took a lot more time (and pushing) than it should have.

 

*

 

In the weeks that followed, the Gryffindor first years found their Hogwarts experience was just a bit different from others, as they were unofficially but inescapably responsible for getting the Deer-Which-Lived to its classes. This was not as easy as it should have been, as Hairy had learnt that the Great Hall was where food was and always started protesting when he realized they were going somewhere else.

 

He did in particular not like Potion’s class, as the dungeons were cold and Severus Snape was there. He was very vocal about this, and lost so many house points in those classes that he would have become Gryffindor’s Undesirable Number One had said points not been lost shitting in cauldrons, knocking over jars containing expensive and dangerous things and eating things he shouldn’t.

 

(Not only did this behaviour lead to Fred and George Weasley stepping up their game so as not to be outdone by a first year deer, but the Gryffindors were also much reassured to know that Hairy was human enough to hate Snape. The latter went largely unspoken, however, as “he shits in cauldrons” is not a good answer to the frequently asked  “is he a deer or what” question.

 

Meanwhile, Snape felt more unappreciated than ever, as Dumbledore only chuckled when he complained about the goddamn deer ruining his classes. He had not believed it was possible to hate his job and life any more than he already did, but Hairy had proven him wrong.)

 

When not sleeping, in class, cleverly evading class or in the Great Hall Hairy was usually to be found in the Gryffindor Common Room, where he traded attention for vegetables. 

 

He was having the time of his life.

 

* * *

He also spent a lot of time around Hagrid’s hut. The grass there was very fresh, and the strange snacks he solicited from the large man more than compensated for any forced cuddling.

 

“Listen, Hairy, ‘s not that I don't want ye here, but don’t ye have classes?” asked Hagrid one Thursday morning.

 

Hairy ignored him and continued grassing.

 

* * *

“...and Grothook the Gratuitous snapped Oster Prosis’s spine in half to protest the ratification of the campaign publicity treaty. This form of diplomacy was not-” professor Binns halted mid-sentence, for the first time in a very long time. No one paid much attention to that rarity, however, as everybody else had already been watching what the ghost had only just noticed, which was Mr. Potter eating Neville Longbottom’s notes.

 

“There’s less ink on mine,” offered Ron, feeling left out.

 

Hairy paid him no notice.

 

Neville tugged hesitantly at the parchment. “Hairy-” he tried, but the disruption only earned him a snotty snort. He settled for damage prevention in the form of pulling the parchments Hairy hadn’t yet gotten to out of reach.

 

“Five points from Gryffindor for destruction of property and an additional five for disrupting class, Mister Potter,” said Binns. The Gryffindors in the room groaned and Hairy, noticing something amiss, froze mid-chew. Neville snatched back a bit of parchment hanging out of his mouth.

 

Ron hauled him back to their desk, and the class recommenced.

 

* * *

“Who’s a good deer?  _ Who’s  _ a good deer?” cooed Lavender.

 

There were no other deer in the Gryffindor common room, or in the castle for that matter, so Hairy, had he had human intellect, would likely have made the correct assumption that she was indeed referring to him. He didn’t, but he was happy either way, as she was rubbing his neck with both hands.

 

He barked.

 

“Yes, it is!” Lavender squealed excitedly, as she was wont to do whenever Hairy seemed to be reacting to, thus surely understanding, something she had said. “It is you, it  _ is _ ! Ohh you’re so good,” she trailed off into a murmur and kissed his head several times.

 

“Blimey, Lavender, what are you doing!” Ron shouted in disgust. He rushed over and pulled Hairy away from her. “He’s a boy!”

 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Lavender said.

 

“It means that you shouldn’t be kissing him,” Ron said, putting a protective arm around the deer and looking very upset. “He’s not your pet.”

 

Rather than asking what Hairy not being her pet had to do with his gender, Lavender went on the offense. “Because he’s  _ your  _ pet?” she asked.

 

Ron blanched. “No,” he said, unconvincingly.

 

Hairy barked again. This adorable interruption was also taken as a contribution to the conversation, only both Ron and Lavender interpreted it as him siding with them. They both smiled smugly, or would have, if they weren’t both just melting at how cute Hairy was.

 

Lavender collected herself first. “You act like it all the time! And I’ve seen you hugging him,” she said.

 

“I-” Ron  flushed. “That’s different,” he said, lamely.

 

“Guys- it’s a deer,” blurted Hermione from where she’d been sitting, unable to keep silent.

 

They both turned to her. And on her.

 

“Really, Granger?” Ron asked, glad to move the attention away from himself.

 

“Why do you hate him so much?” Lavender followed, crossing her arms.

 

“I don’t-”

 

“Why do you say stuff like that, then?” Ron interrupted.

 

“I wasn’t - are you two hearing yourselves? You’re being ridiculous! Hairy is a deer,” Hermione repeated, stressing the word “deer” as if intonation could make them see what she saw.

 

“And?” Ron asked, as if that hadn’t been the only argument he should have needed.

 

Unfortunately for Hermione, she, unlike Hairy, had not yet learned not to bite. “He’s an animal,” she explained, dropping her pen onto the parchment. “in  _ every _ way. You’re all being ridiculous! He  _ never  _ acts human, he has shown no-”

 

“Shut up!” Ron shouted. Before Hermione could say anything else, he continued, “he can do lots of things!”

 

“Like what, eat lettuce?”

 

“You’re terrible!”

 

Hermione opened her mouth to defend herself, or continue the onslaught of logic, but faltered when she saw the sheer lack of uncertainty in Ron and Lavender’s eyes.

 

Lavender saw her hesitation and smiled triumphantly. She looked ready to say something, but whatever it was never left her brain as a wet and arguing Quidditch team crowded into the common room, effectively ending the argument.

 

Hermione went back to her homework, and Hairy abandoned his defenders to go harass Percy.

 

* * *

 

“Mister Potter ate your homework,” echoed professor McGonagall.

 

Hermione looked murderous.

 

(Fortunately for her sanity Ron had to shoulder some blame, as Hairy had been his responsibility at the time. Less fortunate for her sanity was that a conflicted-looking McGonagall had given Hairy detention too, almost sheepishly citing something about equality.)

 

* * *

“I-i-i-i’m - allergic,” gasped Quirrel as Hairy sniffed his chest. He tried to lean away, but had already been backed into a wall so there was nowhere to go.

 

Hairy extended his snout towards his turban, but, being small even for a deer, he did not get much higher than the professor’s chest. Quirrel swatted at him.

 

“Get him  _ away  _ from me,” he said very clearly, without a trace of stuttering. Seamus rushed to obey.

 

He and Dean coaxed Hairy away from the accosted professor with horse treats Dean had gotten his mother to owl him. Neither noticed Quirrel’s carefully empty expression relaxing into cold hatred behind their backs.

 

* * *

“Seriously?” Hermione yelled.

 

Hairy stared at her. Then he continued chewing.

 

“That- that-   _ what the hell is wrong with you? _ ” she screamed. Hairy stepped away, and swallowed the rest of her planner.

 

It had had plastic bits in it.

 

“Miss Granger,” said Flitwick tentatively, “perhaps you should not have had it lying so readily on your-”

 

“Oh, forgive me for putting books on my desk! What was I thinking,  _ putting books on my desk _ ? I guess I’m being unreasonable!” she railed, arms flailing and hair an electric cloud around her. Flitwick appeared at a loss as to what to do.

 

Hairy stuck his head in her bag and started rummaging around in it for something to it.

 

Hermione looked helplessly around, but no one made to stop him. They were all staring at her instead.

 

“I hate this place,” she sobbed and ran out of the room.

 

“She’s got issues,” said Ron in the silence that followed.

 

* * *

“TROLL IN THE DUNGEONS!” screamed professor Quirrel. “Thought you’d like to know,” he added, and fainted.

 

The Great Hall dissolved into loud chaos, and Hairy, easily frightened as he was, was too scared to know what to do with himself. He dashed out in a panic.

 

Blinded by fear, the mad deer ran into the dungeons. There, be it by bad luck or coincidence, he ended up in the girl’s bathroom, where Hermione had had her solitary crying session interrupted by the troll deciding to kill her. 

 

Fortunately the troll had only broken down the door, and, while terrified, she remained unharmed.

 

Hairy too was terrified when he realized that he had burst into a room that had a troll in it. He froze.

 

It turned towards him.

 

(For all his instinctual cowardice and in spite of having grown up with the Dursleys, Hairy had never really been hunted by anyone. Now that he stood staring death in the face his nature failed him, and for once he did something very human, which was to stand still and wait to see what would happen next.)

 

He stood and stared, transfixed.

 

The troll raised its club.

 

Had Hairy possessed human speech, he might have said “huh” to that.

 

“Hairy, run! SHOO!” Hermione screamed, jumping forwards and waving her arms.

 

Startled, Hairy snapped out of it, and took off running in the opposite direction. The troll followed, leaving Hermione to cast a  _ sonorus  _ on her throat and scream, effectively creating a siren. She hoped no one would accuse her of being a banshee.

 

Her scream was successful: McGonagall, who had been in the area, came running, and intercepted Hairy. Being a highly competent witch she was able to subdue the pursuing troll, and the danger was over in a rather anticlimactic turn of events.

 

It fell to a shaken Hermione to walk the even more shaken little deer back to their Common Room. On their way there she felt something pass between them. Hairy had, intentionally or not, saved her life. She, in turn, had proven herself an able protector.

 

As they reached the portrait hole, she helped him in and he snorted a tiny shower of snot at her in appreciation. She smiled and patted him on the head. He really was adorable.

 

(“Is it true Hairy rescued you from that troll?”

 

“Well - um - he just kind of just stood there…” she looked uncertainly down at the deer leaning against her.

 

“What, in the face of a troll? That is so brave,” Parvati said, looking awestruck. The other Gryffindors looked impressed too, even if Ron appeared somewhat glum at Hairy’s sudden love for Hermione.

 

“I guess,” she said)

 

Hairy had found his new favourite human, and she a friend.

 

* * *

For all that Hairy was a very cute and inspiring mascot, Gryffindor still lost to Slytherin in Quidditch. Oliver Wood’s love for the little deer cooled severely.

 

* * *

“Hairy, don’t-” Hermione started. Then her face softened. “Here, there’s nothing written on this parchment. You can chew on that, okay?” she asked.

 

Hairy bumped her affectionately with his snout, and started demolishing the parchment she’d offered him. She scratched his forehead and wondered if there was anything going on behind it at all.

 

It struck her that unless she made more friends, she might just have to have him stand Deer of Honour at her wedding.

 

She hurriedly turned her attention back to  _ Hogwarts: A History _ .

 

* * *

Christmas came, and with it the discovery that Rubeus Hagrid had been harbouring a baby dragon. He suffered legal repercussions for this. No eleven-year-olds got in trouble protecting him, and the dragon was not trafficked to Romania. 

 

None of this made any difference to Hairy, as he had stopped visiting after the snow came.

 

* * *

“Isn’t parchment made of animal skin?” asked Neville as Hairy happily chewed up an essay Snape had given him a T on. Quietly, of course, on the off chance that Hairy would hear him. “Do you think this is some kind of vestigial carnivorism? From the part that’s human?”

 

Ron’s eyes widened. “That must be it,” he said. Truthfully, he too had been slightly disturbed by Hairy’s apparent cannibalism. “Maybe his tastebuds are just- off.”

 

They both nodded quietly to themselves, slightly mollified by this explanation. And if Ron’s attempt later that day to feed Hairy bacon failed in a cacophony of smashed plates, whinnying and a scolding from Hermione, then that little to change their minds.

 

* * *

Hairy had found what appeared to be his favourite professor. The little tuft he had for a tail wagged slightly, and he was all but dancing on the spot.

 

Quirrel groaned and put up a hand. Hairy started rubbing his forehead vigorously against it.

 

“Allergic,” he simply stated, and waited for someone to remove the offending fawn.

 

Hermione manhandled Hairy away, apologizing profusely.

 

* * *

“Potter, won’t you please - oh, someone just get him out of there…” Madam Hooch didn’t even look angry, just tired.

 

Ron and Hermione, who for Hairy’s sake were hanging out more than they would have liked to, abandoned their brooms to help him out of the Quidditch pitch stands. Why he was taking Flying lessons at all was anyone’s guess.

 

* * *

Gryffindor lost to Hufflepuff, and then Ravenclaw. Hairy became Wood’s unwitting friend as the latter had something of a change of heart, and took to telling his teammates to play better “or make Hairy sad”, and complaining to Hairy whenever he caught the deer alone. He seemed to believe it genuinely cared.

 

It didn't.

 

* * *

In spite of Dumbledore’s enticing warning, no one had taken any interest in a certain door on the third floor corridor. It had either been forgotten or, in cases such as Hermione, been respected.

 

Hairy had not heard the warning at all.

 

They would never have seen the inside of it had Hairy not spotted Quirrel walking inside one cold morning on his way to the library with Hermione and Ron.

 

Having no reason not to, he ran to say hello.

 

“Hairy-” Hermione tried, but to no avail. He crossed the corridor in no time, and squeezed through the door just before it closed.

 

Hermione and Ron did not even need to look at each other before running after him.

 

Meanwhile, on the inside of that door, a flute-enchanting Quirrel was most unpleasantly surprised to be interrupted by the world’s most bothersome deer.

 

Hairy too was most unpleasantly surprised, as he had not been expecting to be facing a three-headed dog. He spun like a startled cat and made for the door again but it had already closed. The ensuing crash! of deer skull meeting wooden door would have made anyone but present company flinch in sympathy.

 

Quirrel, like a neighbour that owns a gun and has been asked to watch your constantly barking dog over the weekend, saw an opportunity. He grinned. “I guess I’m about to find out if your heads take turn eating,” he said to Fluffy, and took out his wand.

 

Hairy did not recognize human speech, and as such the sudden lack of a stammer did not tip him off about Quirrel’s villainy. He did, however, realize that there was a three-headed dog in the room, that Quirrel’s body language was predatory and that he had nowhere to go. He curled up on the floor and started mewling.

 

Just then, Ron and Hermione burst in, profuse apologies at the ready. Quirrel jumped backwards, under one of Fluffy’s heads.

 

They looked at him, at the dog, and at Hairy, and nobody, not even Fluffy, moved.

 

“T-this room is o-o-off l-l-l-limits,” Quirrel said lamely, lowering his wand.

 

Now, even if the children had found his behaviour to be suspicious, he was a good enough bullshitter to pass, and it is unlikely anything would ever have come off the encounter and that they would not have left him to his business after a few awkward minutes, had Fluffy not chosen that moment to investigate the delicious-smelling pile of textile Quirrel had coiled on his head.

 

He realized what was going to happen a millisecond before it did. His eyes widened in helpless horror.

 

The turban came off in a single scrape of the beast’s teeth, and Quirrel spun instinctively to face it, leaving his back facing the door. The children screamed. Quirrel threw one hand up to cover the back of his head, poking a yelping Voldemort in the eye in the process, and with the other he threw several curses at Fluffy. Hairy sat very quietly, too shocked and scared to move.

 

“ _ Disaster - stop - this is not how you handle- _ ” Voldemort hissed, face wrenched into a terrible grimace.

 

Ron pulled desperately at the door handle, but in his panic he did not remember that he was supposed to pull, and so it did not open. To scared to think about defending himself, he gathered Hairy into his arms and huddled in the corner with him. Hermione, feeling oddly distant, lit Quirrel on fire.

 

On second thought, she lit Fluffy on fire too.

 

This, combined with Quirrel’s far darker and more painful curses, only enraged the Cerberus.

 

He tore from his chains, and snapped at all four(five) of them with whichever mouth was closest. Quirrel, who did not even seem to realize he was on fire, fell back on the door.

 

“Master, the stone-”

 

_ “Forget about the stone - we have to get out-” _

 

Quirrel nodded frantically and pulled at the door, and burst out into the corridor.

 

Ron and Hermione followed him out, pulling a limp Hairy along and closing the door as they went. They watched in disbelief as Quirrel sprinted away, both too shaken to do anything to try and stop him. Behind them they heard the thumps of Fluffy throwing himself at the door, but it was enchanted, and did not give out. It was unreal.

 

By the time they were found by a passing Snape, Hairy was up and sniffing for food again, and Quirrel was gone from the Hogwarts grounds, like a thief into the night. An unsuccessful one.

 

(And Hermione and Ron had, by shared trauma, found a sense of kinship that was now irreversible. They were, much to their mutual chagrin, become something that to outsiders was, with shrugs and mumbles, best described as friends.

 

Together with Hairy they now made a trio of  _ very  _ strange bedfellows.)

 

* * *

Hermione and Ron were both questioned by Dumbledore, who nodded quietly as he listened to their story. He praised their quick thinking and bravery, but did not answer any of their questions, and bade them keep quiet about what they had seen.

 

“It’s good that you protected Hairy,” he said to Hermione. “You’re going to have to continue that,” he continued, blue eyes piercing her.

 

“Well- of course-” she answered, not sure where he was going.

 

“No matter what happens,” he stressed. She could only nod.

 

“Good- good-” he said distractedly, patting her on the head. She resisted the urge to smooth out her hair.

 

He did not interrogate Hairy.

 

* * *

“He’s just a deer, isn’t he?”

 

McGonagall was reminded of the question she had asked a decade earlier, when the seconds caught between her questions and Dumbledore’s answer had, to her, been Lily and James’ last not not-living moments. This was another such moment, involving another Potter, only this time she was losing what had apparently never been a student in the first place.

 

That family was going to be the end of her.

 

On his side of his desk, Dumdledore nodded. “I’m afraid so,” he said, possibly thinking about that same moment.

 

She sank in her chair.

 

Perhaps it was good that Lily and James had not lived to see this. Or, Merlin forbid, to have a  _ herd- _

 

She shook her head to clear it.

 

“Minerva?”

 

“I feel so stupid.” All her past interactions with what had apparently been an ordinary deer all along replayed in her memory, now tainted with knowledge she had been happier without. “I gave him homework,” she said distantly. Looking up, she saw Dumbledore biting back a smile. The bastard.

 

His amusement faded as more serious thoughts seemed to surface. He fixed her with a severe look.

 

“No one can know this, Minerva.”

 

At her questioning glance, he continued, “Hairy is more than a human deer to the Wizarding World. He’s the Deer-Which-Lived, the hero that vanquished Voldemort. Imagine the damage done to morale - to our cause - to those who fear Voldemort - if this got out.”

 

She gaped at him. “But we can’t just-”

 

“We have to,” he said, cutting her off. His voice and eyes were steel. She stared at him, caught by his intensity and the surrealism of the situation. “You know what Quirrel was. What that means. Voldemort is coming, Minerva, and when he does we are going to need every shred of hope and strength we can get. Hairy is a symbol of all of that.”

 

He paused to let the words sink in. She had gone very pale.

 

“Voldemort is coming, and Hairy is going to be our talisman against him. Our lives will depend on that. On  _ him _ ,” he reiterated, slowly, tapping a finger on the desk to stress his point.

 

“You can’t be serious,” she whispered, even as she knew he was.

 

“I am,” he said, and just then a set of bells started chiming from one of his instruments. Its true purpose was unknown to McGonagall, but it did not matter: to her, it sounded like the bells of doom.

 

She wondered if Hairy having hooves hadn’t been a sign they were all damned all along.


	3. A Midsummer's Garbling Grass Monster Nightmare

Hairy’s summer vacation that year was unusual. (Although, as his awareness of time and understanding of human society was nowhere near sophisticated enough for him to know that he was, in fact, on a summer vacation, he never realised this.)

 

He arrived in the Dursleys’ garden the same way he had left it, which is to say that professor Snape apparated him there. This was no less terrifying to him than the first time, but Snape had had the foresight (and audacity) to put him in a harness, so his attempt to run was as successful as the previous one, which is to say not at all.

 

The professor then left again immediately, leaving the much-dismayed Dursleys to find their least favourite blood relative eating his way through Petunia’s petunias, as though he had never been gone.

 

Their attempts to explain this sudden reappearance to the neighbours were half-hearted at best.

 

(“No, it appears Hairy wasn’t run over after all, yes we are so glad and cats come back all the time, maybe there are things we just don’t know about deer, now you must tell me how your lilacs are still blooming.” Petunia’s high, quick voice and flighty eyes would make this effort all the more pitiful.)

 

* * *

 

 

The first few weeks following Snape’s deer drop were fairly uneventful.

 

Hairy was, in spite of the past year’s many harrowing incidents that might have caused a lesser (read: smaller, like a rabbit) herbivore a fatal heart attack, the same as he had always been. He liked grass and peace and was happy to be someplace familiar.

 

Owls would sometimes come by and drop letters down on his downy little head, startling him. He ate most of them (as soon as they stopped being scary), but a triumphant Dudley got his grubby hands on some and would give them to his very upset parents, who in turn burned them.

 

The phone rang once, but the polite young girl on the other end of the line got no further than to introducing herself as their pet deer’s classmate before a mortified Petunia slammed it down. (To her credit, the word “classmate” had been said with much chagrin.)

 

Hairy did not take note of any of this and was having a very nice summer.

 

* * *

 

 

On the last day of July the Dursleys had important business connections over for dinner. Hairy was in the garden.

 

As was, with a loud _crack!,_ suddenly another magical creature. This one was green, however, and humanoid. (And very ugly: his skin was wrinkly and dirty, like a raisin that had seen better days, and his disproportionately large mouth housed a few stained and slightly too long teeth, the rest having gotten lucky at some point and fallen to a better place.)

 

Unsurprisingly to those who knew him, Hairy choked mid-swallow and made a run for it. He got no further than to the water bucket before the little man snapped his fingers, making him freeze mid-leap and fall to the ground in a crash.

 

The man ran after him. “Is Master Potter all right?” he asked. He clapped its hands once, and Hairy regained mobility. This time, perhaps finally starting to learn from these incidents, he did bot bother trying to run, though he did steer his butt straight as far into the fence as he could.

 

He and the creature stared at each other.

 

Then it started speaking. “Hairy Potter must not go to Hogwarts!” it said.

 

Hairy continued staring at it.

 

“There’s a grave danger… Dobby isn’t allowed to speak of it, Dobby will be in big trouble if his masters find out, but Hairy Potter must know!” Its eyes filled with tears. He stepped closer to Hairy, wringing his spidery hands together and smiling tentatively. Hairy managed to back even further into the fence.

 

“Will master Potter promise to stay away from Hogwarts?” he asked.

 

Hairy snorted slightly, and extended his snout towards his folded hands to sniff them. It was Dobby’s turn to stare at him. “M-master Potter?”

 

Hairy must have decided that Dobby smelled like a friend, because in the very next second he gave them a mighty bump. And, be it because he was stronger than he looked or because Dobby was just that emotionally overwhelmed, the little elf fell backwards and straight on his arse.

 

He stared at Hairy in shock.

 

“Master Potter _greeted_ Dobby!” his eyes filled with tears again. “Dobby is _honoured_ , master Potter, sir, Dobby doesn’t – doesn’t deserve- ” he broke off with a wet hiccup, and started crying. And he _kept_ crying, for several full minutes, fragments like “never – been treated-” and “too good” sometimes escaping amidst the less informative “uhuuuh” noises. When he was done, he wiped the snot off on his pillowcase and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

 

Hairy, unused as he was to such behaviour, was still staring at him, though a disappearing tuft of grass sticking out of the corner of his mouth revealed his capacity for multi-tasking. Dobby gave one last, shaky exhale, before getting back to his purpose for coming.

 

“Does Dobby – does Dobby have Master Potter’s word that he will not go to Hogwarts?”

 

Hairy kept chewing. Dobby wrung his hands anxiously.

 

“Please, Master Potter, it is _very important_ that he stays out of danger! There’s a plot, a most terrible plot against him…” he started tearing up again.

 

Hairy snorted, and rubbed his entire head against Dobby.

 

Dobby gasped. “Is that – is that a yes?”

 

Hairy, who hadn’t been petted for weeks and was starving for affection, stamped his feet and continued rubbing his head against Dobby.

 

Dobby started crying. “Master Potter is a very wise young deer! Dobby is so happy… Master Potter will be safe thanks to Dobby, oh yes! Thank you, Master Potter! Thank you!” He stepped back and gave Hairy one last smile before snapping his fingers and disappearing with one final _crack_!

 

Hairy returned to his grazing, and after dessert Vernon opened the back door so that the cooing and “how quaint!”-ing Mrs Mason could swoon over how cute he was.

 

It was a very successful dinner party.

 

* * *

 

 

His vacation got further disrupted.

 

Being a deer, Hairy was unable to respond to his correspondence. This obvious explanation had not occurred to Ron, who in spite of having observed Hairy in class and with his homework had convinced himself something was preventing his friend from answering his letters, and that he needed to be rescued. Fred and George were recruited, and so off they went in a flying, shining car to rescue the deer in distress.

 

Finding Hairy proved easy, as he had been sleeping under open sky, and they managed to land quietly before he could wake up and run away. Getting him into the car was less easy, but George had the brilliant idea of having his brothers grab Hairy while he took off from the ground, brutally reversing the deer’s priorities and ensuring a smooth voyage home.

 

The Dursleys never woke during all of this, but were tentatively happy the next morning to find their garden once again empty.

 

* * *

 

 

Their mother was furious about her sons’ nightly heroics, but Hairy, being blameless, received a warm welcomed and, perhaps in part to prove a point against those inhuman Dursleys, Charlie’s old bedroom as soon as Mrs Weasley was done with the honour of petting the Deer-Who-Lived.

 

Ron called dibs on carrying him up and down the stairs, and so it was that the hijacked Hairy became a resident of the Burrow.

 

(This was not quite ideal for Hairy, who found himself left with no food for eight hours at a time each night from then on. The situation was made worse by the fact that the fact that the Dursleys had never needed to potty train him, leaving Mrs Weasley with a quotidian mess to clean up. Maternal as she was, she did not mind, but interpreted the deer’s general skittishness and desperation to get out each morning as embarrassment over these accidents.

 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she assured him, smiling as he sniffed the yarn in her hands.

 

(He would later eat Ginny’s would-be Christmas sweater.))

 

* * *

 

 

“… I mean, did they even let you read my letters?” Ron asked on the first day, while giving Hairy a tour of the Burrow’s surroundings.

 

Hairy did not respond, but stopped to smell a goblin hole. Ron prattled on.

 

“I wrote to you almost every day, and even put in empty scrolls of parchment so you would have a snack! I can’t believe this,” he said and threw his arms up in the air. “Muggles!”

 

Then he blinked.

 

“Hold on, Muggles don’t use owls, do they?”

 

Hairy raised his head to look at him. Ron’s yaw fell open. “You don’t have an owl,” he breathed, “blimey, no wonder you’ve been so - don’t step on that! – quiet.” He pushed Hairy, who had been aiming for some grass, away from the rake lying teeth-up on the ground. “You can borrow my owl, you know, if you want to write someone. I’ll bet Hermione’s anxious,” he said, pausing when Hairy turned to look at something. “What is it?”

 

Hairy had spotted a dead bug on a rock. Curious as ever, he walked over and swallowed it.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny was delighted at their new houseguest.

 

“Who’s the cutest little Deer-Who-Lived? Who is? Oh, it’s you, it’s you, it’s _you_!”

 

Hairy neither knew nor wondered why she was so happy, but he got ear scratches and hugs and was happy too. (Ron was not, and privately let Hairy know he did not have to indulge his idiot sister. This reassurance was met with guileless fingerlicking.)

 

She was also delighted that he was starting to shed his summer coat, as actual fur from the deer itself would make for the ultimate addition to the Hairy Potter paraphernalia she kept in her room. 

 

* * *

 

 

Percy would slip him snacks at the table, flushing with joy at the affectionate bumps this earned him, even as he wasn’t quite sure what to think. Like Hermione, he had his doubts about what exactly was going on in Hairy’s head. Unlike Hermione, he had a very convenient ability to refuse to think about it.

 

This ability was greatly tested on Hairy’s fourth day there, when he shat in the kitchen and in full view of half the family, and did not seem to care in the slightest. 

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur once brought Hairy into his garage, figuring that the deer, knowing Muggle culture but being unable to tattle to his wife, would make for the perfect assistant. Unfortunately, no matter how carefully he explained his problems to Hairy, he was just not very helpful in getting the coffee machine operational.

 

“But – can’t you just point at what I’m doing wrong? Like this!” Arthur pressed his finger energetically at one button. Sparks erupted, startling Hairy, who ran outside.

 

Arthur did not attempt getting his help again.

 

* * *

 

Another happy reunion was when the Weasleys brought him to Diagon Alley for school supplies, and they met up with Hermione.

 

(What had not been so happy was travelling with Floopowder, but Arthur held him firmly in his arms so he could not panic and pounce out of the wrong oven, so they arrived at the intended destination.)

 

“Hairy!” she squealed and threw her arms around him. It was telling of his trust in her that he did not flinch away in fear, but calmly accepted this sudden love assault. Ron grunted his greetings at her from where he stood next to them.

 

Somebody cleared their throat from behind them, and Hermione straightened up. “Mum, Dad – uh, this is my friend Hairy,” she said, sobering as her parents stared at the scene.

 

“You really weren’t kidding,” her father said, looking just a bit too uncomfortable feign politeness.

 

Silence reigned between them for a few moments, before Hermione cleared her throat. Her father snapped to. “Right,” he muttered, and took a few steps towards Hairy. He extended his hand for the deer to sniff. “Pleased to meet you… Hairy. I’m Jonathan. I… hear you’re friends with my daughter.”

 

Hairy sniffed his hand. The man sent another despairing look at Hermione.

 

“He’s also a hero,” Ginny piped up. “He rescued the Wizarding World from You-Know-Who when he was just a fawn. Didn’t you, Hairy? Did-n’t-you-?” she asked, voice growing higher and more staccato as she got busy rubbing his neck.

 

Ron bristled. “Will you stop embarrassing him?” he hissed. He turned to her parents. “It wasn’t just when he was a fawn, you know, he did it again last year. He’s a hero,” he said, eyes lighting with pride. Hermione sighed.

 

“Yes… she mentioned that,” her mother said, sounding even more uncomfortable than her husband had. Hairy stepped towards her, and she faintly offered her hand for a sniff.

 

Silence reigned again.

 

“I’m also friends with Ron,” Hermione tried.

 

“Well,” began Ron, but before he could say anything more, Hermione was somewhat urgently reminding her parents of the errands they still had to run.

 

They more than happily took the bait.

 

* * *

 

 

“No, Hairy, don’t eat- oh no - I’m so sorry, ma’am-” Ron looked chagrined.

 

The woman looked chagrined too. “That’s six galleons a piece,” she said, voice drier than the herbs disappearing into Hairy’s mouth.

 

Ron opened his mouth in outrage. “That’s insane!”

 

The lady smiled tightly. “Grown only on a small volcanic island by a terminally ill eremite. I’d prove it, but Mr Potter ate the tag as well.”

 

Ron looked ready to scream. Taking the cue that the conversation had taken a nonverbal turn, the lady rubbed her thumb against her other fingers and raised her eyebrows.

 

Ron ended up extracting twenty-four galleons from the pouch encircling Hairy’s neck, hoping his friend would still be able to afford his books.

 

* * *

 

 

Hairy had to wait outside Flourish and Blotts with Ginny while the rest of the family bought books and Mrs Weasley got Gilderoy Lockhart’s autograph. Lockhart never spotted the famed deer, one Lucius Malfoy ended up slipping a small black book into the bag of an inattentive young blonde student and Hairy killed time chewing on Ginny’s hair.

 

She was thrilled.

 

* * *

 

 

“Is that Hairy Potter?”

 

Ron, having regained responsibility of Hairy when Ginny went to buy her want at Ollivander’s, grinned. “Sure is! D’you wanna say hello?”

 

The stranger nodded.

 

“Say hello, Hairy!” Ron chirped, crouching slightly.

 

Hairy just looked at him, and took a step towards him to search him for snacks. Ron sighed. “I’m so sorry,” he said. He moved to push him forwards, when the stranger leapt forwards and picked the deer up.

 

“You’re coming with me,” he grinned, and disapparated before either Ron or the stunned deer could react.

 

* * *

 

 

The next thing Hairy knew, he was in what humans would have recognised as a cemetery but that he saw as a grassy meadow with rocks in it.

 

He wriggled and kicked to escape the man’s arms, pretending to be more frightened than he actually was to get to the beautiful grass. He might not have needed to, because the man dropped him like garbage. Then, as a surprised Hairy carefully got to his feet again, shaking each leg a bit to make sure they were unharmed, the man looked around calmly, emptily.

 

“We’re here,” said a voice.

 

He walked mechanically over to where the voice had come from. His face had lost the warmth and emotion it held when he talked to Ron, revealing his lack of independent thought and emotion. “I brought him,” he simply said, and he did not react when the other man stunned him.

 

“I will not be needing him for now,” explained the other, shorter figure to Hairy, and stepped out of the shadows.

 

It was Quirrel.

 

Harrowed and skeletal, he had forgone his turban, revealing his bald wreck of a head. The face of Voldemort had collapsed, like a prune, now that he was too weak to maintain it, and Quirrel’s own did not look much better. He barely looked like a human. Still, in spite of his wretched appearance, his gait held an odd energetic grace, and he reached the deer just a bit too quickly.

 

Said deer ignored him, barely even aware he was there.

 

“I’ve had him, and others, watching Diagon Alley for weeks, Hairy,” Quirrel breathed, and his eyes shone. The constant sound of his listener tearing grass up off the ground might have discouraged any other speaker, but not he. “No matter how protected you are, you would have to come at some point… Dumbledore will insist on your education, won’t he?” He smiled, and that made him look even worse.

 

“But you and I both know it’s wasted on you… don’t we, Hairy?”

 

Hairy continued grazing.

 

“Because you’re a deer,” Quirrel said, nodding to himself. Up close, one could see that his eyes and face held a strong yellow tint.

 

Hairy did not argue.

 

“A deer,” the man repeated.

 

Hairy raised his head to look at him.

 

“I will bring him back,” he said, very seriously, in the sort of tone one uses to reassure a small child. “I will resurrect him, and you… you will be sorry,” he continued, not discouraged by Hairy’s friendly attempt to sniff him.

 

He straightened, and walked over to a great black cauldron. Hairy followed.

 

“Need I bind him, my Lord?” he asked as he reached the cauldron. A weak voice sounded in reply – “No” - and Quirrel, having bent his head as he listened, nodded in acquiescence.

 

“Then I will get right to it, my Lord,” he said.

 

With a flick of his wand, the liquid in the cauldron started bubbling, even as no fire burned underneath.

 

Bone of the father, unknowingly given, flesh of the servant, willingly offered, and, with a needle, for Quirrel did not know deer anatomy and did not want Hairy bleeding to death before his master could kill him, blood of the enemy, forcefully taken, were all stirred into the liquid, which took on a strange blue tint.

 

Shaking slightly, Quirrel took off his robes. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it – and then, naked and ugly as the day his mother birthed him, he stepped into the cauldron. There he sat down, so that the liquid might cover him entirely.

 

Hairy watched all of this with great curiosity. He walked right up to it, and a whole mouthful of grass slipped from his mouth and into the cauldron as he watched the spot Quirrel had disappeared. The colour changed again as it reacted to the foreign element.

 

When a few seconds went by with nothing exciting happening, Hairy lowered his head to eat some more.

 

It was then that he, fortunately or perhaps fatefully, discovered that there were a few scrolls of parchment, each covered with tight writing and symbols, lying underneath the cauldron. If deer could grin, he would have right then.

 

And, right as a thick black smoke erupted soundlessly from the cauldron, he jammed his head under it and _pulled_ at the biggest parchment he could get his teeth around. It came dislodged, and he dragged it out from under the cauldron, not noticing it wobbling dangerously behind him.

 

He did, however, notice when the it toppled a few seconds later and fell towards him.

 

He skipped out of the way and none of the liquid nor the curious lumps that had been floating in it spilled onto him, but something very big and bubbling slid out and crashed into a tombstone.

 

For once right to be frightened, Hairy panicked and took off running.

 

In his wake, the creature, for it was alive, stumbled up on its knees, and stood gasping for air for a few seconds. Its skin was still bubbling, but slower, settling, but so far it was only its mouth that was not covered by this matter that was quickly drying into skin. It stretched out its fingers – that is to say, tried to.

 

It realised with a horrified croak that it had only webbed stumps where fingers ought to have been. It straightened its back. It could keep its balance, well, that was a relief. Or so it thought until it realised that it had neither shins nor feet, and its ribs connected to its pelvis, inhibiting movements.

 

It was four feet tall.

 

Waddling out of the mess that was the cauldron’s liquid and what remained of Quirrel after the Dark Lord’s spirit had been torn out of him and given flesh of its own, lord Voldemort, now able to open his eyes, raised his hands to again inspect them, hoping his fingers might grow independent off their own accord.

 

They didn’t.

 

He was, on the other hand, surprised to find that as the discolouring liquid was absorbed and his skin settled into place, long, thick strands of hair bloomed on the surface. This had not been part of the ritual. They covered him, even his face and neck. His lips – thank god, he had lips – twisted in displeasure. It simply would not do to be covered in hair.

 

But no – not hair, he saw as he blinked for the first time and his vision became clear. Grass.

 

He was covered in grass.

 

He would have screamed, but all that came out was an angry garble, and then he lost his balance and fell, leg stumps kicking uselessly in the air.

 

* * *

 

 

Hairy ran to Cornwall, where Albus Dumbledore found and retrieved him a few hours later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A short (well, I tried) summer chapter for the summer season. As for what just happened, well… yes. Voldemort is a garbling grass monster now. Please bear with me, this development was planned since before I started this fic and sounded a lot less crazy in my brain. Sigh. This fic will be the death of my self-respect.
> 
> And speaking of self-respect, there is now an AU where Hairy is sentient and suffers an existential crisis. I won’t even try to defend this mess.


	4. Les Misdeerables

Dumbledore dropped Hairy back off at the Dursley’s and then left again immediatey. The Dursleys were much dismayed, again, and yet, not unlike a certain merchant who once met Death in Samarra, they were not entirely surprised, for though they had wanted to believe that this time they were free of their blood relative, the magical deer, they had in their heart of hearts known the deer to be an inescapable part of their lives by then. The moment of turning the wrong corner and looking into the face of Death, or in their case hearing a distinctive _crack_!, stepping into the back yard and seeing that infernal deer again, had become a strange mix of defeat and coming home.

 

Dudley was the first the go back inside from where he stood with his parents, leaving them to watch Hairy wander about the garden in search of good grass.

* * *

Dumbledore was not much happier with the day’s developments.

 

The first sign that something was wrong had been in the form of several surveillance meters going off in his office, all of them related to Hairy or lord Voldemort in some manner. Finding the deer in Cornwall, of all places, and in a rather hysterical state, only added to his fears, even if the deer had not been physically harmed.

 

Never had its inability to speak, or have a mind focused enough to be read, been a greater obstacle.

* * *

On the very next day, Dursley misery was deepened as the Weasleys came to visit. This time, for the sake of common courtesy (and to show Ron and the twins how visiting friends was done by civilized people), the parents had made sure to walk up to the front door and knock politely.

 

Vernon’s face went very red, but not a word escaped. He stood like a deer caught in the headlights, not sure if he should firmly reject those freaks, thus admitting to hypothetical eavesdropping neighbours that he was familiar with such people, or pretend not to know them, which would be the safer approach considering his reputation, but that could, in light of the previous year’s incessant giant, make it that much harder to get rid of them.

 

In the end he settled for the most tempting option, which also happened to signal all the right things to both his unbidden guests and to his neighbours, namely slamming the door.

 

He made sure to grunt loudly and formidably before doing so, noting with a hint of satisfaction that almost all of them had blanched at the gesture.

 

Unfortunately, this did not deter the well intentioned (and yet condescending) Weasleys.

 

Arthur turned to his wife and children, and gave them his best reassuring smile. “I’ll talk to him.”

 

“You will do no such thing!” bellowed Vernon from the other side of the much too thin door, wishing he had read between the lines when his realtor had told him the house would «bring his family in close contact with the neighbours».

 

Arthur turned back to face it. “We just want to chat with your nephew, Hairy!” he said, and beamed reassuringly at the house.

 

A pained squeak sounded on the other side of the door. They heard a strange thumping noise, and a woman’s frightened voice. Molly and Arthur eyed each other uncertainly.

 

The door opened again.

 

Vernon stood tall and flushed in the doorway, with his back straight and courage as pure but unappreciated as that of a man buying potency pills in his eyes. “Not one step,” he warned when Arthur, being entirely too optimistic, immediately took a step towards the door. “I will not let your- you into my house,” he said, the pause after “your” just a bit too heavy to not be insulting. 

 

“That’s fine,” piped Molly up from behind her husband, far too cheerful for what was a very serious situation for Vernon. “we’ll just walk around the house. We only wish to speak with your-”

 

“No!” hissed Vernon, motioning wildly for her to lower her voice. She looked confused. So, for that matter, did her husband and the five children they had brought along.

 

Then, something seemed to occur to Vernon. He gave them a new look, this time with a speculative look in his eyes. «Are you here to take him away?»

 

Ginny lit up. «Can we?» she piped, before her mother shushed her.

 

«I’m afraid not,» she said, to her daughter and Vernon alike. «There was an- incident. Dumbledore,» she began, not noticing how the man visibly flinched at that name before moving on, “told us he would be safer here. We just came by to see how he was doing.”

 

“And give him this owl!” Ron added, holding up a birdcage. “We bought it as a late birthday present. Now he can write us back!”

 

Vernon was confused. “Are we still talking about…?”

 

Ginny finished it for him. “About Hairy, yes,” she said, and held up something she had been hiding behind her back for him to see. It was a brightly colored painting of Hairy in a meadow, eating grass, and on the brown blob that was meant to be Hairy she had lovingly glued bits of real hair. It was enchanted: his head would rise and fall, like a nutcracker. “I brought him a gift of my own!” she exclaimed proudly.

 

Vernon shook his head. “No,” he muttered. “No,” he said again, louder this time. Not knowing what else to do, he backed into his house and once again shut the door in their faces.

 

This did nothing to deter the Weasleys, they just walked around the house, but Vernon had washed his hands clean off of the affair.

 

(Petunia, on the other hand, would find it rather difficult to wash bird droppings off of her hands and furniture. The Weasleys had left Hairy’s new pet there with him, and, fearing the possible consequences of breaking its neck, the Dursleys now found themselves caring for two magical creatures.)

* * *

Azkaban, being an island that made its inhabitants too miserable to function, did not really need a high security section. Its only real raison d’être was PR.

 

Its inhabitants were almost all Death Eaters. And being that the building was stone and metal, its acoustics were fantastic. This was probably intended to let prisoners hear the screams of their brethren that much more clearly and hauntingly, but another, hitherto (because at every point earlier in its history there had been too much screaming to tell) unknown purpose revealed itself on the day Voldemort returned to physical form, as every Death Eater in the section suddenly became fixated on their arms. The difference was noticeable enough to make the non-Death Eaters shut up as well.

 

Soon the terrific acoustics were abused as they started yelling excitedly at each other, each more sure of their imminent salvation than the next. For the first and last time in the history of Azkaban the air was full of joy and unimaginable relief.

 

Except, of course, for one large, black dog with very good hearing who went very tense in his cell as he realized what had just happened.

* * *

Voldemort was tense too, but that was because his new muscles were cramping. Badly. _Constantly_.

 

The deer had interrupted the ritual before it had been finished, rendering him stuck with a misshapen lump of poorly organized flesh and bone. It went further than mere discomfort: his nerves had not had the time to fully develop, leaving him uncoordinated and numb, and his organs were trashed. One kidney had failed already, and his liver and spleen were swelling. Veins were clotting and rupturing. He had to take care of his feeble heart and lungs before he could do anything else, but he would be needing dialysis potions too, and soon.

 

If he could get any potions ingredients. In his years as a healthy, attractive man, he had taken the simplicity of walking into a store and getting whatever obscure items he needed for granted: now he couldn’t even manage the walking part.

 

Not deadly but also not negligible maladies, such as underdeveloped vocal cords that reduced him to angry garbling, tiny lungs that had him constantly out of breath no matter how measured his breathing, the lack of ears, nose and teeth or the fact that he was covered in grass, were also a factor in his inability to… well, function.

 

He was beyond even hating that damn deer, for there comes a point where feelings no longer cover it. He was stunned.

* * *

On the first of September Snape appeared in the Dursleys’ garden and fetched Hairy. Summer was, at last, officially over.

 

Another thing that was over, although this event had not been on anyone’s calendar, was one Sirius Black’s stay in prison. This, along with his grisly reputation as lord Voldemort’s second in command, lead to him becoming the Wizarding World’s Undesirable Number One. His infamy lent him a near legendary quality, as he picked up Voldemort’s Society’s Bogey Man Torch. The media was in a great furore, and mothers dared not let their children outside, even though British Wizarding homes were like good restaurants in Rome, easy to find if you know where to look but almost impossible to find for the uninitiated, and ignoring the fact that even the dark lord himself had never had an interest in abducting random children.

 

In short, people were not being rational. And, as irrationality breeds inefficiency, Sirius Black was, like Voldemort before him, almost disappointed to make the discovery that evading the long arm of the law was quite simple.

 

( _I wonder why they don’t just get belgolarfs to find him. They’re excellent trackers_ , wrote one girl in her diary.

 

Said diary, which was trying to figure out how much of her claim that a snorlack rights defender had been smuggled out of a reeducation institution by goblins was actually true, responded with a terrifying inky sketch of what it imagined a belgolarf might look like. This, it had discovered, was the best, sometimes only way to respond to the girl.)

* * *

Hairy got on the train just fine, arrived in the Great Hall on time and got to watch the Sorting Ceremony with his friends. Which is to say that he kept distracting anyone who would (and wouldn’t) talk to him, including students on the other tables who had become re-sensitized to having a tame deer in the Great Hall over the summer, and so a lot of people failed to memorize any of the names.

* * *

«No, you can’t pet him! » Ron muttered, as he swatted at another first year.

 

«Why not?» the youngster whined.

 

«Because he doesn’t know you, he needs to sleep, and you’re all crowding him anyway. Isn’t that right, boy?»

 

Hairy responded by reaching out to sniff a tiny blond first year boy. He squeaked in delight and brought up a camera. The following flash spooked Hairy, and he ran up the closest exit, which happened to be the one leading up to the girls’ dormitory. It turned into a slide under his feet, making him fall, which made him go into full-blown panic mode.

 

The entire room watched in silence as Hairy dashed senselessly about the Gryffindor common room.

 

«I’m going to bed,» said Hermione, and clapped Ron on the shoulder.

 

«Hey-» he began, but she was gone.

 

The first years, and soon the older students, probably for fear of responsibility, started filtering out as well, until only Ron was left staring at the tiring (and more panicked for it) deer.

 

Hairy jumped on top of and skidded across a table, smashing several pieces of glassware. Ron flinched.

 

(The following night was even worse: Ron and Hairy retired very early that night in the hopes of avoiding the cuddle-hungry first years, but were intercepted by Ginny, who expected family benefits in the form of being allowed to spend the night cuddling with Hairy.)

* * *

The following few weeks at Hogwarts were, as far as Hairy was concerned, and admittedly with a few exceptions, fairly indistinguishable.

 

Such exceptions included Hermione being called in to Dumbledore’s office to be informed that Hairy was not to be let out of the castle under any circumstances and her subsequent foils of his many attempts to go grazing.

 

(«No, Hairy, you can’t-» the deer tried to step around her again.

 

«Oh, hey, Hairy!»

 

«Hello, Ron,» Hermione replied, and straightened up, letting her arms fall back to her sides. Hairy, distracted by the new arrival, started scratching his leg.

 

Ron looked at them funny. «What’s going on with you two?»

 

«He wants to go outside, but he’s not supposed to,» Hermione sighed.

 

Ron frowned. «Why not?»

 

«Because of the dementors, Ron! He won’t know to stay away from them.»

 

Ron gave her a withering look, one that had become very familiar to her. «You really think so little of him, even after all this time? Even after-» he looked around and lowered his voice to a whisper, « _Quirrel_?»

 

«I don’t! It was professor Dumbledore who told me to keep him inside.»

 

Ron blanched. «What?»

 

«And Hairy didn’t stay away from Quirrel either, he was all over him…» she went on.

 

«No- why didn’t he ask me?» Ron looked wounded.

 

«What?» Hermione asked.

 

«I’m his best friend! Me, Hermione, not you!»

 

«Oh,» she said, and frowned. «I, uh… well, he does seem fond of you.»

 

Ron was not satisfied. « _Fond_ of me? He stayed with me over the summer!»

 

«You snatched him with your car and lost him in Diagon Alley after two weeks,» she corrected drily, crossing her arms.

 

Ron crossed his arms too, though he was blushing. «He was much happier at our place than with those Muggles, Hermione, believe me. But I guess you wouldn’t know, would you, you haven’t ever visited him! Me, I’ve visited him _twice_.»

 

«I live on the other side of the country…» she said, though she did look slightly guilty.

 

«And I only lost him because he was kidnapped! It happened very quickly.» he said. Dumbledore had never really said what had happened there, but Ron figured he should just be happy more fans weren’t kidnapping the deer when they spotted it.

 

Hermione sighed. «Alright, I’m sorry. And Hairy does seem to trust you, he doesn’t do that with a lot of people.»

 

Ron nodded. «That he does. And he sleeps in my dorm too, so we have something you don’t.»

 

«Yes,» said Hermione.

 

Ron nodded, but did not feel vindicated.

 

Somehow, and in spite of Ron’s genuine desire to help, keeping Hairy indoors remained Hermione’s task.)

 

There was also the matter of professor Gilderoy Lockhart, who had decided to mentor Hairy on his way to stardom. The venture was not among his more successful ones, unfortunately, as Hairy was incapable of standing still or even looking at cameras, and when Lockhart made him watch as he replied to fan mail in his office the deer was able to eat an unknown quantity of post cards before he caught on. The last drop was when Hairy took advantage of Lockhart’s low-seated chair and licked the man’s hair: he was booted from the office, and thus ended his short-lived career as Gilderoy Lockhart’s celebrity protégé.)

 

On a general basis, however, Hairy himself did not seem to notice much of a difference between being a first year and a second year.

* * *

That’s not to say everyone felt the same as they had before.

 

Minerva McGonagall, wise to Hairy’s lack of humanity as she had become, found her abilities to pretend he was a normal student to be sorely lacking.

 

«Parkinson, Pansy,» she said, and the girl replied «Present».

 

«Potter, Hairy,» she said, and there was a thump and a rustling sound as a startled Hairy snatched his head out of Weasley’s bag and it fell to the floor. She flinched internally.

 

«Present,» she said for him, at the same time as miss Granger did. They made eye contact for one brief moment, before Minerva looked down to the list again.

 

Hairy was, to his credit, at his desk for the first twenty minutes of the class, a personal record, but he wouldn’t stop gnawing at its corner. When he tired of that activity, he walked to the door and tried to open it. Failing that, he curled up into a ball right next to it and started dozing.

 

The class looked to her expectantly.

 

She took fifteen points from Gryffindor.

 

(Percy Weasley had a similar problem when Hairy came trotting over to him in the Great Hall expecting treats, and dug his snout into his crotch in an attempt to investigate his pants when Percy did not comply.

 

«I gave him treats over the summer,» he said awkwardly and tried and failed desperately to keep from blushing. His fellow Gryffindors continued to glance at him dubiously.)

* * *

«No, Hairy,» Hermione muttered distractedly as she pulled _Herbs Hibernating in Hearths_ away from Hairy’s nibbling.

 

He gave her a sullen look and walked around the library bench, where he started sniffing Ginny’s homework instead. Her eyes widened, and she gasped quietly when he deigned to lick at the ink a little.

 

Hermione sighed in exasperation. «You have to tell him no, or he’ll smudge it. Here, let me,» she said, and sweetened her voice. «Do you want a carrot? _Do_ you want a _carrot_?» Hairy looked up at her, and she fished one up out of her pocket, smiling widely and dangling it. Hairy’s eyes widened. «That’s _it_ , come get the carrot!» she crooned.

 

«Really, Hermione?» Ron said, and started fishing around his pockets. «Hold on.»

 

Hermione (Ginny remained captivated by Hairy, stretching out a tentative hand in the hopes of petting him) turned her attention to him, only to raise her eyebrows when he pulled out Scabbers.

 

«See Scabbers here? He’s a rat. Right?» he put the rat on the table. «He would like a carrot, I’m sure. Because he’s _a normal animal_. Hairy’s not a normal deer, he just - well, he likes parchment and he’s hungry. I am too, if I could eat parchment I bet I would.»

 

That got Ginny’s attention. «Really?» she asked. She was ignored.

 

«What’s your point, Ron?» Hermione asked, closing her fist around the carrot.

 

Ron gave her an unappreciative look. «You need to stop being so condescending to him, Hermione,» he said.

 

«I’m not!» she cried. «Well - not condescending by his standards, anyway. Ron, don’t you think he would let me know if he thought I was being condescending?» she said, wishing Hairy would do something deery right then to prove her point.

 

Hairy, whose sense of timing was impeccable, trotted around the table and bit her hand.

 

«Looks to me like he just did,» Ron said in a withering tone, and there was a glimpse of triumph in his eyes that she didn’t like.

 

«He wanted the carrot, Ron,» she tried, but he wasn’t having it. He slammed his book shut, and stood up from the table.

 

«Come, Hairy,» he said, and, when Hairy did not respond, he clicked his tongue. Hairy took a step towards him. Hermione rolled her eyes.

 

«Now who’s being condescending?» she asked.

 

«It’s not the same thing, Hermione, and you know it,» Ron replied and pulled lightly at the scruff of Hairy’s neck to get him to follow.

 

Hermione gaped. «How is it not the same thing? Oh, are you _seriously_ leaving over this…»

 

He was. Or he would have, but as soon as Hairy realized that not everyone (namely Hermione) was coming along with them he ducked away from Ron’s comradely hand and trotted back to Hermione and Ginny, where Hermione rewarded him with two carrots and an ever so quick little smug glance at Ron.

* * *

Two weeks later, one mid-October morning, Ron and Hairy came into the Great Hall to find it buzzing with whispers. Ron frowned. Hairy, on his end, did not seem to notice anything amiss, and trotted straight to Hermione to give her an affectionate nudge. She smiled and kissed the top of his head. «Good morning, Hairy,» she crooned, and Hairy seemed to glow before he trotted off to his hay pile.

 

Ron sat down in the open space she and Dean had left for him on the bench. «Morning,» he greeted glumly, and fished Scabbers out of his pocket and onto the table.

 

«Morning, Ron,» Hermione said, and sent him the bread basket. «What took you two so long?»

 

«Sleep,» he muttered, cutting up his toast and putting the crusts on a side platter for Scabbers. Before Hermione could say anything else on the matter, he inclined his head in the general direction of his surroundings. «What’s going on?»

 

Hermione pressed her lips together. «Sirius Black’s been sighted in Sheffield.»

 

Ron and Scabbers both stopped eating. «That’s not far from here,» Ron said. Hermione nodded morosely. 

 

Dean passed him the paper, and Ron looked at the headline.

 

_SIRIUS BLACK STILL AT LARGE_

 

«D’you reckon he’s coming here?» Ron wondered aloud.

 

«Why would he wanna come here?» Seamus asked from the opposite side of the table.

 

Ron shrugged. «Iunno. Just - maybe he wants to go after Hairy, or something.»

 

«Why would he want to go after Hairy?» Hermione asked. «Why would he go here of all places, Dumbledore’s here, if even You-Know-Who was afraid of him his followers must be terrified. It would be a very stupid thing to do.» 

 

Ron blushed.

 

«I don’t know, Hermione,» Seamus said. «You ain’t seen what Azkaban does to people. Me, I had an uncle stay there for a month when I was a kid and he wasn’t ever the same since. Jumps at nothing. And Black’s been there for eleven years, and the Black family are all of their rocker anyway…»

 

«No way he’s being rational,» Dean agreed. Then his eyes widened. «Merlin’s pants, it’s why they put Dementors up around the castle! They expected him to do this!»

 

Hermione seemed to waver at that. «You mean it’s a trap?»

 

«No, that would mean they’re letting Hairy be bait,» Neville said, joining the conversation. «They wouldn’t do that.» Suddenly aware of the attention he was getting, Neville blushed and ducked his head. «Sorry,» he muttered.

 

The other four said nothing to reassure him that he was of course welcome, as they otherwise would have. Instead they all sat frozen, staring at him.

 

It was Dean who spoke first.

 

«I’m sure they wouldn’t do that,» he said, and laughed. It sounded painfully forced.

 

«Right,» Ron said, and gave a just as forced smile.

 

The others hm-ed.

 

Ron shoved the food at Scabbers, but the rat didn’t even seem to notice. «Hey, he’s _trembling_ ,» Ron observed in surprise. 

 

The others turned to look at him, thankful for the distraction.

 

«Let me see,» Dean said, and leaned over Ron’s plate to look. «Huh.» He reached a finger to poke Scabbers, but Ron swatted it away.

 

«Is he scared of Sirius Black?» Seamus asked.

 

«What? No, Scabbers doesn’t understand a word I tell him. No, he’s probably just cold or something,» Ron said, but he did look concerned. He poked at the rat. Its trembling worsened.

 

«He looks scared to me,» Dean noted.

 

«Huh,» Ron said.

 

The terrifying implications of the news just sort of dwindled then, and bringing it back up when the topic had sort of digressed into nothing would have been awkward. Peace was restored, at least for the second year Gryffindors, and at least until Haloween.

* * *

Five days later, on All Hallow’s Eve, a bloated Hermione was just scooping up the last few stripes of sauce on her plate when she felt a familiar nudge against her back. She turned around.

 

Hairy was standing behind her, looking antsy.

 

«Hey, boy,» she said, and reached out to scratch his ear, only to pull it back when he flinched.

 

Ron stared at her. «What was that about?» he asked.

 

Hermione was too surprised to respond to him. «Hairy-» she began, but then he flinched again, and sank to the floor. He started trembling.

 

Like he had when Quirrel attacked him, she realized.

 

«Something’s wrong,» she said aloud, and got up to kneel beside him.

 

Ron got up as well. «Maybe he’s cold,» he suggested, and started unbuttoning his robe. «Winter’s right around the corner,»

 

Hermione stared at him. «He has fur! He’s never cold,» she said. «He seems scared,» she observed, putting a palm on his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him.

 

«Of what?» Ron asked.

 

Hairy’s trembling worsened. Hermione was at a loss for what to do.

 

Around them, the sound cutlery clattering against dinner plates and buzzing conversation quietened down as people started noticing the little spectacle Hairy was, however unintentionally (and unknowingly) stirring up. Hermione felt herself flush slightly.

 

«S’pose we’d better call it a night if he’s so upset,» Ron said.

 

She nodded her assent, and together the two hoisted the quivering Hairy up on his legs and walked him out of the hall. Ginny, eyeing a chance for almost-one-on-one quality time with her idol, ran after them. Percy got up as well, citing his prefect responsibilities.

 

Much to Hermione’s chagrin, Hairy’s mysterious anxiety was not at all eased by leaving the Great Hall. He only grew more hesitant, regardless of how sweetly she beckoned. Ron’s heartfelt attempt to liven up the deer by crouching a few feet away and slapping his thighs enthusiastically did not work either.

 

Ginny ran up to them and fished a carrot out of her back pocket, smiling endearingly at the deer. This got him a few steps further, until he decided the carrot was as interesting as Ron, which is to say not at all.

 

Percy soon caught up with them, and solved the reluctant deer problem by picking Hairy up and carrying him. 

 

They got as far as to the second floor in this way, until they stopped to stare at a puddle of water that had spread all across the floor.

 

«What’s happened here?» Ron said, stepping forcefully in the large water puddle and frowning at the splash. He continued tapping his foot in the puddle, making little splish-splash noises.

 

«There must have been a leak in the bathroom. The one around the corner,» Hermione said, and then she frowned. «Hogwarts gets water leaks?»

 

«Not usually, no,» Percy said, also frowning. «I’ve never heard of it happening. And stop that, Ron,» he added. His brother made one last splash before he stilled. «I’ll let Mr. Filch know after I’ve dropped you lot off.»

 

Shrugging and hm-ing, they let Percy lead them around the corner, where the gruesome discovery of Mrs. Norris, Filch’s nasty old cat, suspended by the tail and staring stiffly at her own reflection, was made.

 

Behind her was a message written in blood.

 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. (The I-s were dotted with hearts and the S-s were tiny snakes, complete with tiny streaks that were probably intended to be scales. )

 

Ginny squealed and burst into tears, but the others stared silently. Even Hairy was not moving.

 

It was Percy who spoke first.

 

«Ron, take Hairy and Ginny to their dorms. Hermione, go get a professor- I’ll stay here,» he said, and for once Ron had no smart things to say to his brother. Hairy was put down, and while he was not a fan of the puddle he seemed to have calmed down, so he made no fuss.

* * *

As news of the attack broke across the school, the horror of Mrs. Norris’ predicament and the ominous, girly message was completely overlooked in the excitement surrounding Hairy’s newly discovered psychic abilities, for surely he had predicted the incident.

 

The next attack happened shortly after, and perhaps there was a sense of «fear me, insolent fools» to be had when it not only affected a student this time around, but a ghost as well. Unfortunately for the culprit’s ego it so happened that Hairy had predicted this one as well, for he had grown as antsy as last time, and that led the people to realize that if they stuck close to the deer, they would always know when Slytherin’s monster was approaching.

 

And so it came to be that Hairy found himself followed everywhere by several dozen students.

* * *

There were more attacks. The tension in the school grew, as did Hairy’s flock.

* * *

Gettinga deer into the dormitory had not always been an easy task, as Hairy did not always wish to jump into the portrait hole, but it proved almost impossible when Ron and Hermione had to deal with countless pale, frightened Muggle-born students crowding the staircase and trying to convince them to have a massive sleepover in the Great Hall instead.

 

«Professor Dumbledore _said_ there was no need,» Hermione said, even as a pair of fingers reached out from between a pair of third year Hufflepuffs to stroke Hairy’s fur as though he were a lucky talisman.

 

«How can you say that?» a Ravenclaw asked in an accusatory tone. «Potter’s the only one who can tell when the beast approaches. We’ll be sitting ducks in our dorms, and we’d never even know it!»

 

«The beast only attacks those who walk alone, and you’re half the bloody school!» Ron protested, and tried pushing through to the portrait. He succeeded, because people were interested in the deer, not him.

 

«You’d let half the school _die_?» a third year Hufflepuff gasped, and her eyes filled with tears.

 

«It got away with attacking Nearly Headless Nick. A _ghost_!» shouted another student.

 

«How can you be so cold?»

 

«Yeah, Weasley, you’re a pure-blood! This is all very easy for you to say.»

 

Ron gaped. «That’s not- a little support here, Hermione?» he asked, but she could only shrug in panic.

 

«Please go back to your dorms?» she tried. Nobody moved.

 

«Sod this,» Ron grumbled, and whispered the password to the Fat Lady so she would let him in. «Nobody’s died, anyway!» he yelled before the portrait closed after him, leaving a crowd of students glaring at the spot he’d disappeared into.

 

The flock was eventually dissembled by professors Snape and McGonagall, who walked everyone back to their respective dorms, but Ron and Hermione still had to battle Gryffindors eager to get into his dorm in the nights and massive crowds in the day.

* * *

 

Much like all things concerning Hairy, Hermione weathered the crisis better than Ron. In spite of being a Muggle-born herself, she seemed unafraid, which made Hairy gravitate towards her even more than usual, for his sudden flock of fearful followers and Ron’s stress unsettled him, and she even managed to organize the crowd somewhat, dividing the students into squares that would rotate on being close to Hairy and establishing a daily route for Hairy to go through the entire school, so that people on what became known as the Hairy Express could get off and on at different stations, if they so wished.

 

It looked ridiculous, and it was ridiculous, but it promoted house unity as people got talking to people they otherwise never would have, and while there were always some unlucky Muggle-born someplace who decided to brave the school corridors on his or her own that the beast would attack, Hairy remained a reliable radar, and being near him gave the Muggle-borns a feeling of safety. Even a few half-bloods and pure-bloods joined in at times, as the Hairy Express was the new social _it_ and fun besides.

 

As November bled into December, the Express passengers started singing Christmas Carols. Hairy got to wear a glowing red nose he’d received in the mail and was nicknamed Rudolph.

 

And in the Ravenclaw tower, a girl who was slowly losing her mind and soul could feel the rage of a vengeful spirit determined to be the cause of panic, not socially experimental caroling trains of Muggle-borns, wreak havoc in her.

* * *

Before, there had been the odd quiet moment where Hairy, Ron and Hermione got to be just _them_ , and no one had any complaints. It is true that these moments were usually when Hairy was too busy eating or dozing to favor anyone, and that Ron had perhaps been the one who treasured these moments the most, but they had been important to the three nonetheless. Now, with the terrified Muggle-borns monopolizing Hairy’s time and every move, these moments had become obsolete: in fact, Ron only ever saw Hairy when they were settling in for the night, and even then Dean Thomas would act very clingy around the deer.

 

There was also the matter of the Muggle-borns all spoiling Hairy on snacks, and Ron was pretty sure his stomach seemed rounder than usual too. Then, his winter coat was settling in, so it was hard to tell.

 

Overall the young redhead found himself increasingly left behind, even by his baby sister. Scabbers got more cuddles than he ever had before as a result, but Ron thought that a half dead rat with no thought more complex than «food good» made for a poor replacement for his best friend. Even so, Scabbers was _his_ , and his alone, and that meant something.

* * *

 

On Christmas Eve a middle-aged Muggle woman and her family visiting her mother in Perth were sad to see that the old woman’s mind was more addled than they had realized, as she claimed to have seen a great black dog sort through the garbage behind Betty’s Baked Goods, unwrap a sandwich with its paws and eat it from one end.

 

«And then,» Marjorie leant forwards, «he turned into a man! A fully grown man! And he floated all the foods he’d found in the air, and made them disappear one by one!»

 

Jenna and her husband exchanged a despairing look.

 

Unbeknownst to them, at that very moment an Aberdeen doctor was struggling to calm his recovering schizophrenic patient down after he’d hallucinated a man appear out of thin air in a shop window, replicate a coat and disappear again. (Although neither Jenna and her husband nor the Aberdeen doctor would have realized that they were in any way connected, even if they had for whatever reason met and decided to compare notes.)

 

Also related to the case was Scabbers growing ever thinner and losing more hair than Ron had even realized he had in the first place.

* * *

Freedom and the promise of clearing his name and becoming Hairy’s custodian had filled Sirius Black’s broken heart with happiness. Salvation was nigh: it seemed like nothing (apart from Dementors, the Ministry or Hogwarts’ security measures) could stop him from taking back the life that had been robbed from him.

 

He even went and bought Hairy a glowing red nose, thinking of how James used to love dressing up his family so they could pose for ridiculous family photos.

 

Perhaps it was his single-minded belief in his imminent absolution that jinxed it, because on Boxing Day, just as Sirius was singing «Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer» to himself a mere 150 miles away from Hogsmeade, Hairy had a little accident.

 

The trouble with rats is that they’re tiny and have fragile bones. Deer have anatomical shortcomings too, in that their legs are very long and not always easy to keep track of, and these two flaws came together in the most unfortunate of ways in the Hogwarts library, before Ron’s very eyes, when Scabbers made the fateful decision to dart between Hairy’s legs just as Hairy made the fateful decision to take a step forward.

 

There was a tiny, almost inaudible crack, so tiny that only Ron seemed to notice it.

 

«NO!» he roared, and threw a Ravenclaw first year aside to fall to his knees by Scabbers. The other surrounding Hairy Express passengers stepped back in confusion.

 

«What’s the matter, Ron?» Finnegan asked as Ron poked his rat with a shaking finger. He peeked over Ron’s shoulder, frowned when he saw it was only Scabbers and proceed to look elsewhere around the section they were in to see if he’d missed something.

 

Hermione made her way through the crowd.

 

«What’s going -oh. Oh, Ron,» she said, covering her mouth with her hand in shock. 

 

Ron’s face had gone completely grey. He tearfully scooped Scabbers’ limp form into his hands and cradled him against his chest, staring fixedly at the dark stain on the floor where Scabbers had been. Where he’d just _died_.

 

There was no other sound in the library as Ron started weeping softly.

 

None, that is, save for the ever oblivious Hairy making soft little noises and nudging at Penelope Clearwater to get her to pet him.

 

Lavender Brown hesitated for a second before she bent down to touch Ron’s shoulder. «He was getting old, wasn’t he? Maybe it was time,» she tried comfortingly, but that only made Ron cry harder.

 

«Quick way to go, innit?» said Justin, though his voice was a lot less tough than his words. «Mum had a dog once that-» Hermione shook her head frantically at him to stop.

 

«Maybe,» she said softly, «it would be best if you guys left.» Ron stiffened.

 

«But Slytherin’s mo-» someone tried, but was cut off by Ron.

 

«Go,» he muttered. The word had probably been intended to come out louder, but tears and emotion swallowed it up so it was more of a garble than anything else. Nobody moved. «Go!» he said again, louder this time. He brought his head up to stare furiously at the people gathered. «All of you! GO!» he screamed, curling his fists and immediately recoiling in horror as he realized he’d almost crushed Scabber’s remains, but this only fueled his fury. «JUST GO, NOW!» he continued, spitting, face wet with tears and snot and red as a beet. But still nobody moved, paralyzed by shock and a desire to help him.

 

Hermione moved to put a hand on his arm, but he drew away from her and roared «AWAYY!» before she could touch him. She blanched.

 

«Ron-» she began, looking close to tears herself, but Ron wasn’t hearing it.

 

Looking around at the astonished but unmoving students around him, at Hermione’s face and at Hairy staring at him cluelessly, Ron was undone. 

 

At last he realized that his friendship with Hairy was never going to be what he wanted it to be, and the same applied to the one he had with Hermione. Even more devastatingly, he realized that there was not a single person in the school who put him first, and that the deer he had given all of his time and devotion for the past year and a half was only a deer, and one that didn’t seem to care about anyone other than Hermione at that.

 

He was alone and a fool.

 

He let one final sob escape, the most wretched one thus far, before he pushed his way through the crowd and ran off.

 

Peter Pettigrew was dead as a rat, in every sense of the term. 

 

And 150 miles away, in the very same moment as Ron ran away crying, Sirius was toasting to James and Lily and a good life with their son, blissfully aware that the only proof of his innocence was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the length, but there was no natural place to split the chapter. Also, apologies for the shameless camp that is the caroling Hairy Express, but I want Tom Riddle to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have no excuse for this.
> 
> (I wish that was all I had to say, but it isn’t. This was supposed to be the short story of Hairy Potter’s life, from his biblical conception to his inevitable death by broomkill, but it just kept growing and stealing time until I realized I’d simply have to release the first part, and then see about continuing this pixellated atrocity later on. Shame me in the reviews if you wish.)


End file.
